The Hunger Games: Boy with the Bread (Peeta's POV)
by InvisiblePinkToast
Summary: Have you ever wondered how Peeta felt throughout The Hunger Games? How he felt when his name was called at the reaping, how he survived the Hunger Games and protected Katniss? This is a canon-based story of Peeta's point of view. I hope you enjoy The Hunger Games: Boy with the Bread.


My body clock wakes me up just as the sun begins to rise. I groan. Typical, there's finally a day when I can sleep in and I wake up early. I feel my stomach tense as I remember the reason why I'm able to sleep in. Today is reaping day.

I'm pretty safe, I've never had to take tessera - my family owns a bakery, the last thing we need is more grain - and since its my fifth reaping my name will be in there five times. It's the reason my family owns a bakery I usually have to wake up so early, to work. My father wants the bread to be hot and fresh for the breakfast customers. The bakery is also how I got my name - Peeta. It's a variation of Pita bread, but my mother says its 'less noticeable'. It's better than my older brothers names, Rye and Taftan (also bread names). Sometimes I'm almost sure my mother never wanted kids, and wanted revenge so she gave us bread names.

There's not point in lying awake for hours, so I get up and put on my work clothes. Rye is still fast asleep and I'm careful not to wake him. My father gets pretty sentimental on reaping days, he wants us to have a good time so he lets us off work. For some reason, this seems lost on my mother and she sees the fact that we have a 'free day', as she calls it, to do a load of house chores we usually don't have time to do. May as well start early so I'll have some free time later. It's still pretty dark outside, as I climb down the stairs, fill a bucket of water, and begrudgingly begin to scrub the floor of our dining and living area.

About a half hour later, my father comes downstairs to start working. There aren't as many customers today, so he can handle the work by himself. He sees me working and gives me a half hearted smile.

"Morning Peeta." He says.

I wipe the sweat off my brow. "Morning." I reply.

He takes a step into the kitchen and hesitates. I can tell there's something on his mind. He turns to look at me again. "How are you feeling about... today?" He asks.

I feel my stomach clench at the thought of later today. "Alright," I say, trying to smile. "I'm only in five times so the odds are more in my favour." My father nods and goes into the kitchen. Not too long later I can smell the familiar aroma of baking bread.

As I begin to clean the fireplace out, my mind drifts to what will happen this afternoon. Two kids will be chosen to go into the Hunger Games. Here at District 12, that's the equivalent of death. As much as any kid hopes its not them, there also the awful thought of it being someone you know. I've been lucky enough not to have been close to anyone who has gone in since I've been alive. But what if this year it's different? What if Rye goes up? He's eighteen now, it's his last year, his name is in seven times. Or what if it's one of my friends? I feel a twinge of guilt as I wonder if I'd volunteer for them. I don't know if I would. Oh well, I doubt any of them would for me. I can't help but wonder how many times Katniss's name is in.

Katniss Everdeen is a girl from my year. I've had a crush on her for forever, but I don't think she knows who I am. We've never even spoken before, which isn't exactly my fault because she hardly speaks to anyone. The closest contact that we've ever had was one time when we were eleven. My mother found her going through our garbage and yelled at her. She looked starving. When we went back inside I dropped two loaves of bread into the fire and mother screamed and hit me. She sent me to throw the bread to the pigs, but once she was gone I threw it to Katniss. I doubt she would remember, it wasn't exactly a memory worth saving. But I saved it. I'm dragged from my thoughts when I hear the jingle of the bell at the bakery's front door.

It's still pretty early, I have to wonder who would be here now. I get up, dusting my hands and go to the kitchen door to see Gale Hawthorne standing at the counter. I recognise him, he's one of the boys from the Seam. He's also Katniss' best friend. I see them together a lot, I think they're cousins. They certainly look alike. I don't want to think about why they spend so much time together if they aren't related. My father walks over to him.

"Morning, Gale. What can I do for you?" He asks.

"I'm here for a trade, what would it be for a loaf of bread?" Gale sees me standing behind my father at the door and nods to me. I nod back.

My father hesitates for a moment, logic fighting with kindness. Kindness wins. "Just a squirrel today, boy." Gale looks surprised. My father usually drives a hard bargain, but today is reaping day - and with impending doom upon us, everyone treats each other a little nicer. Gale takes a large bag off his shoulder and digs around for a second, before pulling out a squirrel. I notice that, unlike when Katniss trades squirrels, the arrow wound is in the animals side - not in the eye.

My father goes to a tray of freshly baked loaves and gives one to Gale. "Thanks," says Gale. He looks up at me. "Good luck today." He says.

I nod. "You too." He leaves.

I can hear Rye coming down the stairs. The sound of voices must have woken him. When he sees the freshly scrubbed floor and clean fireplace he rolls his eyes and looks at me. "Dammit Peeta, you took the easy jobs!" He cries, but he's trying not to smile. I shrug.

"Early bird gets the worm." I say, grinning. I raise my voice so it carries up the stairs. "You'd better start quick, or you might end up having to clean out the pig pen." Rye and I laugh as we can hear a loud thud that is unmistakably Taftan falling out of bead. I can hear loud and quick shuffling movements as he gets dressed and hurries down the stairs, but it's too late. Rye has already started work on the garden bed, that leaves the pigs for him. He swears under his breath and regrets it as a hand flies out of nowhere and hit him in the back of his head.

It's my mother, who just came down the stairs. "I will not have my son using that language under my roof! Now get cracking, pigs aren't going to clean themselves. You should be grateful we have them." She snaps. Taftan hurries outside and out of range. Even though he is nineteen, and technically an adult, he knows better than to contradict her. Taftan still lived with us because he's going to take over the bakery when my father retires. Because he's oldest, the bakery was automatically his. I hope he hires me when I get old enough to work, though. I don't know how to do anything except bake bread.

My mother turns to me. "And how about you? Why are you standing there dawdling?" She asks, frowning.

I feel a rush of pride as I'm able to tell her "I've already finished." I gesture to the, in my opinion, spotless dining and living area. The pride disappears with her next words.

"Took the easy jobs did you?" She mutters, pushing past me into then kitchen to help my father. He frowns.

"Go easy on them, dear." He says. "It is reaping day after all."

She nods. "You're right. And we've put years of hard work into making sure they didn't have to take tessera. So you'd better be grateful." She says, looking at me. She's about to say something else, but the jingle of the bell announces another customer. It's getting later now and more people will be showing up soon. Mother puts on a smile and turns to the customer.

I nod, turn and walk outside. I know better than to lose my temper. I pass my brothers in the garden and decide to go for a walk around town. I empathise with my father a bit, I feel very sentimental myself. If it could be my last day in District 12, I want to remember where I grew up. As I walk past the other merchant shops, I hear a voice call out and I stop.

Delly Cartwright runs out of her family's shoe shop and stops next to me. Her blonde hair is in curls and she's wearing a pretty orange dress. People try to look nice for reaping day, incase they get picked. "Hey, Peeta!" She says grinning. I can't help but grin back, Delly's an old friend, and she's always in a cheerful mood.

"Hey, Delly." I say. "Tell me, how can you stay so happy even on a day like today?" I ask, gesturing to the market place where I can see officials setting up roped areas.

She shrugs. "Reaping day is always going to happen. May as well be cheerful if it could be your last day." She says smiling. I think about this and realise how much truth is in that statement. Delly offers to walk with me, and I end up having a good time.

By the time I get back to the bakery, I'm in a much better mood. I smile at my parents and make my way upstairs. Rye isn't around, so I figure he's gone to spend sometime with his friends. My mother has laid out the clothes I'm to wear this afternoon. An ironed white shirt and grey pants. There's a tub of warm water for us to use, it's upstairs instead of down because customers can see into downstairs from a certain angle. There's a door to close off, but it gets very hot and stuffy in the kitchen if you close it so we leave it open. I scrub myself down and wash my hair. When I get out, I button up the shirt and put on the pants. I leave my hair because I know whatever I do, no matter how much effort I out into it, my mother will find a way to make it better. When I go downstairs, she's fixing up Taftan's hair and he's complaining because he isn't even up to be reaped this year. I can't help but smile. Mother then fixes my hair and there's a melancholy feeling in the room.

Rye comes home and gets ready and my father closes the bakery. We eat a silent lunch of stale bread and my stomach drops as I hear the whistle marking the time as one o'clock. We clear away our plates and head out to the square.

We join the que to sign in and my father gives both Rye and me a quick hug and my mother pats both our cheeks. Taftan gives us both an awkward pat on the shoulder and we can't help grinning. They head off to join other families and Rye and I walk over to where the other kids are. He and I pat each other on the back as he heads off to where the eighteen year olds are at the front, and I go to the middle with the other sixteen year olds. I stand with a group of my friends from town, we all nod to each other and focus on the temporary stage. I glimpse Katniss showing up, looking beautiful in a blue dress with her hair braided up on her head. She looks even more solemn than usual and with a start I remember its her sisters first year.

I stare at the glass ball holding the boys names, feeling dread creeping over me. I focus my attention on Mayor Undersee and Effie Trinket, who's pink hair and green suit stand out oddly against the dull grey of the Justice Building. The clock strikes two and Mayor Undersee steps up and begins to read the long, boring speech that he's complied to read every year. The history of Panem, the dark days, the Hunger Games and the past District 12 victors. Even though most of the poorer districts don't have many victors, the fact that we've had only two - with only Haymitch Abernathy still alive (if you could call what he does living) - its kind of embarrassing. Haymitch shows up at this moment, hollering and staggering onto the stage. The crowd applauds, and he tries to give Effie a big hug. I fight down a laugh. I'm surprised but I realise it must be nerves.

The mayor introduces Effie Trinket, and she trots up to the podium, grinning and overly cheerful. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour." She talks about what an honour it is to be there, and then says, as always "Ladies first!" trots to the glass ball with the girls names and reaches in, digs her hands around and pulls out a slip of paper. i cant help but feel like she's holding someone's life in her hands. The crowd draws a breath as she walks back to the podium, smoothes out the slip and reads out the name.

"Primrose Everdeen." I feel my stomach drop. No. No, that's not fair. Katniss' little sister, the adorable little blonde girl that everyone seems to love. It's her first year, how could she be picked on her first year? What on earth did that sweet girl ever do to deserve something like this? I glance over at Katniss, see her losing her balance and a boy help her. The crowd is murmuring unhappily as it does when twelve year olds are picked.

I can see Primrose now, looking as pale as a ghost, her hands clenched at her sides walking up to the stage. She's so tiny and fragile looking, I feel like crying, knowing she's walking to her death. That's when I hear the screaming.

"Prim!" A strangled voice cries. I look towards the sound and see Katniss, starting forwards. The crowd parts for her and she calls out again. "Prim!" She runs forwards, reaching her sister just before the stage. She sweeps her arm in front of Primrose, pushing her behind her.

Oh my gosh, I think, my stomach forming tight knots. She's going to-

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" I feel the breath leave my body. Katniss just volunteered. No one volunteers.

"Lovely!" Says Effie. Lovely? Does she know what just happened!? "But I believe there's the small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um..." She trails off uncertainly.

"What does it matter?" Says the mayor. I barely hear him, there's a ringing sound in my ears that grows louder every second. He looks unhappy. Does he realise how wrong this all is? "What does it matter? Let her come forward."

My eyes prick with tears as I hear Primrose screaming hysterically. "No Katniss! No! You can't go!" How on earth must she be feeling right now?

"Prim, let go," Katniss says. "Let go!" She must be the strongest person I know, she's not even crying. I see Gale Hawthorne reach the stage and pull a struggling Primrose off her. He looks upset, and how could I blame him? Katniss climbs the steps to the stage.

"Well, bravo!" Effie gushes. "That's the spirit of the games!" I don't think I've ever been more disgusted in my life than at that statement. "What's your name?" She asks.

"Katniss Everdeen." She says, swallowing hard.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the credit, do we? Come one everybody! Lets have a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" Scratch what I said before. I keep getting more and more disgusted every moment. I'm bracing myself for the applause when nothing happens. Thank God. I'm not the only person who realises how wrong this is.

I see Katniss standing there, looking so small up on the stage. I realise I'll never get to tell her how I feel about her, because she's just volunteered to die instead of her sister. This fact fills me up with rage, and I get the confidence to touch the three middle fingers of my left hand to my lips and hold it out to her. I'm not the only one either, slowly, every hand I can see is doing the same thing. It's an unexpected moment, but I feel like in a way it's like we're thanking Katniss. Admiring her. Saying goodbye. Making sure that the audiences who see this realise how wrong this is.

Haymitch staggers across the stage and throws an arm around her shoulders. "Look at her! Look at this one! I like her!" He cries. "Lots of..." There's a pause as he tries to find the word he's looking for. "Spunk!" He says triumphantly. I think it's an appropriate description. "More than you!" He starts to the front of the stage. "More than you!" He shouts, pointing at the camera. Is he addressing the audience, or could he be so drunk he's actually insulting the Capitol? Haymitch opens his mouth to continue, but then falls off the stage and knocks himself unconscious. My eyes are still trained on Katniss as she puts her hands behind her back and stares off into the distance. People show up with a stretcher and take Haymitch away.

Effie Trinket tries to straighten her wig and starts talking again. "Well, what an exiting day! But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" Oh no. In all that's gone on in the past few minutes, I forgot what comes next. I feel my heart stop as Effie, holding her wig in place, crosses to the boys podium and grabs the first slip she encounters. She hurries back to the podium and I'm clenching my fists, hoping its not me, not Rye, not anyone, when she reads our the name.

"Peeta Mellark."


End file.
